The Secret Box (16 page)

They looked up from their phones and maps. Mr. Camel narrowed his eyes with suspicion. Mrs. Camel's attention was frozen, as if nothing else existed in the world but the jar. The security guard pointed at me. “Hey, kid, you're not supposed to be behind the ropes.”

I took a deep breath.
Confidence
. “Uh . . . hello everyone. Your ten minutes are over. Please make your way back to the bus.” No one questioned me. No one asked who I was or why I wasn't wearing an orange shirt. The Number 1 tourists began to move toward the front exit, but not fast enough. “Uh . . . I don't mean to alarm anyone but the bus is leaving!”

Boy, did they move quickly. The place was deserted in a matter of seconds. Except for the guard. He halted a few feet from our backpack, which lay on the floor. “Does that belong to one of you?” he asked.

“She's having trouble fighting the urge,” Juniper cried. “Get out,” she told Tyler and me.

Jax's arms were trembling, her breathing fast and shallow. She was muttering to herself. “Protect. Protect.” She was possessed.

Tyler began to run. I scrambled off the podium. Jax's hand gripped the plug at the top of the jar. There wasn't enough time for me to make my escape. And there was no time for doubt. I leaped over the rope and pressed my fingers against the side of the jar. The surface sizzled my skin. Juniper grabbed the jar around its base. Jax was shaking like a washing machine on its spin cycle. “Tyler!” I yelled. “Hurry! Get outside!”

The security guard started to back away from us. “What's in that jar?” he asked, a worried look spreading over his face.

Tyler dashed toward the exit but Mr. Camel leaped forward and grabbed him around the waist, shoving a gun into his back. “Don't move!” Mr. Camel ordered. Tyler froze, his hands in the air. “Hand over the jar or I'll kill him!”

My stomach went into a knot. Tyler's life was in danger. We'd failed. We'd—

“Give me the jar!” Mrs. Camel pulled a gun from her shirt and rushed toward us.

“Open it!” Tyler cried. “I'll be okay. Do it now! Don't let them win!”

Mrs. Camel got closer and closer. She pointed the gun at Jax. Her index finger pressed the trigger and . . .

Jax yanked on the plug, pulling it free.

27
Tyler

WELCOME TO THE SECRET BOX CAMPAIGN.

 

You are logged in as Tyler. You are seventeen years old, in excellent health aside from a few hunger pangs. You are unarmed and there are no weapons currently available. Your strength resides in your superior intellect.

Your team consists of an old lady who's been injured, a twelve-year-old girl who is under a spell, and a thirteen-year-old boy who is prone to nosebleeds. The girl carries a secret weapon.

The enemy is logged in as Mr. and Mrs. Camel. They are middle aged, in excellent health. They are both armed with handguns. Their strength lies in their total dedication to win at whatever cost.

The enemy's objective:

    
obtain the secret weapon.

Your objective:

    
get clear of the weapon before its powers are unleashed.

Your location is the Jefferson Memorial. Exits are clearly marked.

Start Game.

 

T
he exit was directly in front of me. It was a straight shot. I could sprint it easily. Nothing stood in the way. The plan was set into motion. Ethan was right behind me. I pumped my arms and legs. Get out. Get safe.

Mr. Camel flew at me and grabbed me by the shirt. He was stronger than he looked and he pulled me to a dead stop. Then something pressed into my back. “Don't move,” he ordered. I raised my hands into the air as the gun's barrel dug into my skin. “Hand over the jar or I'll kill him!”

I turned around. Ethan wasn't with me. He was holding on to the jar. As were Jax and Juniper. I'd failed. I didn't know what to do.

“Give me the jar!” Mrs. Camel cried, and she pulled out another gun, aiming it at Jax.

 

Mayday. Team member captured. Tyler requesting immediate assistance:

The three remaining team members are unable to assist.

    
Disable enemy's weaponry:

Your health bar is lowered. You are outmatched.

    
Terminate Game:

    
Not an option.

    
Restart Mission:

    
Restart button disabled.

    
Define new objective: ?

    
Define new objective: ?

    
New Objective:

    
Sacrifice self to save the team.

 

The Camels were going to win, they were going to shoot us all and take the jar. How could I stop them with a gun to my back? There was only one way. “Open the jar!” I cried. “I'll be okay. Do it now. Don't let them win!”

When Jax pulled the plug, a wailing sound slithered from the jar and filled the whole room. It was the worst thing I'd ever heard. Tears welled in my eyes. I began to tremble. Every sad thought I'd ever had seared my mind. Mr. Camel dropped his gun but neither of us moved. I wanted to run from that place but I couldn't.

I had no family. No friends. No one liked me. No one loved me. My bedroom was dark. I sat in front of the computer, its screen a gaping black hole of nothingness. I reached into the hole and pulled out my trophies. They turned to dust in my hands. I tried to flee the bedroom but the door led to nothing. I called out. My voice echoed back at me. I was alone in the world.

The air began to swirl, around and around, and into the jar. As it blew past me I could no longer cry. The sadness was as heavy as cement. Pain invaded my veins. Deep, deep pain. The room turned dark.

The pain turned to fear. I was scared. Very scared. All alone.

I sank to the floor.

 

Objective Complete

Enemy Disabled

Player Disabled

End Game

28
Ethan

Wednesday

FACT:
I love my brother.

I
'd never told him I loved him, until I was sitting next to his hospital bed. Maybe it doesn't count when you whisper to someone who's in a coma. But that's what I did. The doctors said Tyler's coma was caused by a virus, though they couldn't figure out which one. His vital functions were sound, so that was a good sign. He lay perfectly still, only his chest rising and falling.

Jax and I said nothing to the doctors. What could we say? That we had a magic jar that sucked hope from anyone standing near it? Besides, what could the doctors do? There's no scientific cure for something caused by a Greek god. And neither of us wanted to end up in the psychiatric ward. So we visited the hospital's chapel, a tiny room with a stained-glass window where people went to pray. “Ask God for help,” Jax said as she knelt. “Ask Pandora for help, too. Ask Zeus and all of them for help.” And so I did. I bowed my head and prayed to every god I could think of.

The rest of the time we sat in the hospital room with our parents. Mom held on to Tyler's hand. Dad held his other hand. Aunt Lindsay brought in coffee and snacks from the cafeteria, but no one ate a single thing.

I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd seen. Juniper, Jax, and I had held tightly to the jar. After Jax pulled the plug, it was like some sort of special-effects team had been brought into the Jefferson Memorial. An eerie wailing sound slithered out of the jar—it made my skin crawl. Then wind began to blow, swirling around and around the chamber, sweeping across our faces, through our hair, over our bodies. That's when Tyler, Mr. Camel, Mrs. Camel, and the security guard collapsed. The wind swirled faster and then was sucked right into the jar. Jax trembled through the whole thing. I had to grab her hand and force her to plug the jar. Then I shoved it into the backpack and handed it to Juniper. As soon as the jar left her hands, Jax stopped shaking.

We rushed to Tyler's side. He lay on the floor, his eyes wide open, a look of terror on his face, but he didn't blink, didn't talk, didn't move. Juniper checked for a pulse and made sure he was breathing. “It's just like the last time,” she said. “He looks dead but he isn't. He'll recover. They'll all recover.”

And exactly twenty-four hours after Jax had unplugged the jar, Tyler opened his eyes. “Hey,” he mumbled. “What's everyone looking at?”

Until that very moment, I'd never seen my dad cry. Everyone started crying. “Jeez, what's the matter?” Tyler grumbled. Then he asked for some food.

While our parents were talking to the doctor in his office, Jax and I waited for the nurse to leave, then we sat on Tyler's bed. “What happened?” he asked, his voice deep and groggy. Stubble covered most of his jaw. Another couple of days and he'd have a full beard.

Jax started talking as fast as she could. “Ethan called 911 and told them that you and a couple other people had gotten sick at the Jefferson Memorial. When the ambulances and police arrived, we pretended like we didn't know the Camels. We didn't have to tell the police anything because they found the Camels' fake passports and guns. As soon as they wake up from their comas, they're going to be sent back to England to face charges of forgery and fraud.”

Tyler nodded, but his expression was blank. “What about the security guard?”

“He woke up an hour ago,” I told him. “He's in a room down the hall.”

“What if he tells them what happened?”

“He doesn't remember anything,” Jax said. “We listened at the door while the doctors questioned him.”

“I don't remember much either. My head feels thick.” Tyler didn't sound like himself. His voice was flat, not flavored by the usual sarcasm. With the circles under his eyes and the yellowish tint to his skin, he looked totally wiped out.

“Juniper got away before the police arrived,” I told him. “She took the jar but we don't know where she is. Our parents know nothing. They don't even know that we met our great-aunt. We told them we spent the night at the Madison Hotel. When we found out we had the wrong date for the geocaching competition, we decided to go sightseeing. And then you got sick.”

“How do you feel?” Jax asked. “What was it like?”

I didn't want to know the answer. I'd seen the results of having hope stripped from the soul. I'd watched my brother's face contort, his eyes go vacant, his body collapse as if his bones had liquefied.

“It felt bad,” he said, the words slow and heavy. “Cold. Like my blood had been replaced by Slurpee juice. I wanted . . . I wanted to stop living. I don't ever want to feel that way again.”

How could I make him feel better? “Juniper thinks it won't take long for you to recover. The jar was only open for a second.”

“A second?” He winced. “But it felt like forever.”

“One second,” Jax assured him. “That was it.”

“You looked like a zombie,” I told him, knowing he'd appreciate that description.

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Cool.” Then he peeled the lid of a Jell-O container and slurped it down. “Walker's never going to believe this. He's going to freak out.”

“You can't tell Walker,” Jax said. “You can't tell anyone. We promised Juniper. If the wrong person hears about the jar—”

“We could be facing a catastrophe,” I said. “Think about it. Look what it did to you in one second. Imagine if it was open for a whole minute? In the hands of a maniac, a nation of hopeless zombies would be easy to control. Or if the head of a corporation had the jar, he could convince anyone to do anything just by threatening to open it. He'd have unlimited power.”

Tyler nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I'm not so keen on a zombie apocalypse anymore.” Then he raised an eyebrow at me. “So, am I hearing right? You actually believe this stuff?”

Jax looked at me, waiting for my answer. In that moment, we were back in New York City, watching the magician do his “magic” tricks on stage.
It's fake
, I'd told her.
There's no such thing as magic.
I'd doubted everything about the jar but now I knew the truth—we all knew the truth. Fact was indeed stranger than fiction.

“Those Greek gods were crazy,” I said.

Jax hugged Tyler. I guess there was a first time for everything. “You're a hero, Tyler. You were so brave.”

“You guys were brave too.” He set the Jell-O aside, leaned back against the pillows, and closed his eyes.

Fact: Magic exists. If you have the right tools, you can summon it, and when it reveals itself, it is awesomely powerful.

Fact: Bravery can also be summoned, if you have the right tools, like a younger cousin who pushes you to do things you would never have done on your own. When bravery reveals itself, it is also awesomely powerful.

“You know,” Tyler said, his eyes still closed, “I might start hanging out with you more often. Even though you're still a couple of dorkoids.” Then he started to snore.

I smiled. He was going to be okay.

29
Jax

Two Weeks Later

 

I
t was another record hot day in Chatham, New Jersey. I sat on the front stoop, watching stuff happen. Down the street, a couple of kids were learning how to skateboard. At the corner, a car had broken down and a tow-truck driver was hooking up some jumper cables. A dog walker didn't stop to pick up her dog's poop and Mr. Smith, who'd been trimming his hedge, started hollering at her. His crabbiness didn't bother me as much as it used to. Chatham didn't seem as boring, either. I was looking at the world differently. Guess that's what happens after a major life-threatening event. Sitting and doing nothing in particular seemed perfectly okay.

“Hey,” Ethan said. He dumped his bike in the grass, then plopped down next to me. “Tyler's working on his game but he wants to get ice cream with us later.” He was wearing the same plaid shorts he'd worn during our adventure. He pulled an orange from his pocket and started peeling. “I heard him laugh today. That's the first time he's laughed since it happened.”

“That's good. That must mean he's filled with hope again.”

“Guess so.” The orange squirted, misting us with its tangy scent. When he was done peeling, he handed me half. “Uh . . . heard anything?”

“No,” I said. We'd been waiting for Juniper to contact us. I'd been checking the mail every day, but we'd heard nothing. I still had a gazillion questions for her. “Do you think she's safe?”

“I don't know.” He sighed. “Even though the Camels are in jail, there was that other man who called Mr. Camel in the motel. He gave me the creeps. What if he's chasing after Juniper? What if he gets the jar?”

It was almost too scary to think about.

“Jax?” My mom walked outside. She set her car keys and her Chatham Diner apron on the top step, then sat next to me. “I need to leave for work but I wanted to talk to you about something.” Her brow was furrowed. Crud. What had I done?

“Uh . . . this sounds serious,” Ethan said. “You want me to leave?”

“You might as well stay. It's a family matter and you and your brother will find out anyway.” She folded her hands in her lap and focused her gaze on my shoes. “I feel bad that I took your birthday present. I shouldn't have done that. This whole thing with Tyler has made me realize . . . well . . . that time is precious and I shouldn't keep secrets from you. You have a right to know about your father.”

I took a sharp breath and dropped the orange. I'd waited for this moment my whole life. “Really? You're going to tell me?”

She frowned and looked into my eyes. “It's not such a nice story, Jax. I don't want you to be disappointed.”

So he wasn't a rock star or a prince—big deal. I was prepared for the truth. “Tell me,” I begged. Ethan leaned closer, pressing against my arm. How many times had he listened to my fantasies about my father? He deserved to hear this too.

“All right.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I know you snooped around and figured out the birthday package came from your great-aunt, Juniper Vandegrift.” We both nodded. “I haven't spoken to Juniper since you were a baby. I cut her out of our lives because I was angry,
extremely
angry with her. She's the person who introduced me to your father.” Mom took my hand. “Of course I wouldn't change a thing, because the result of meeting your father is you, Jax, and I can't imagine life without you.”

She was going too slow. “Yeah, I know all that,” I said. “I love you too. Don't worry about my feelings. Just tell me.”

“Your father was born and raised in Mexico.”

Mexico? I looked at her pale hand holding my brown hand. “I'm half Mexican?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Ethan said. “Maybe you can get dual citizenship.”

“Keep talking,” I told her.

“Well, there was a short time when Juniper worked in Washington, DC, for an archaeological society. Your father was getting his college degree and he worked as an intern with Juniper. That's when I met him. And we fell instantly in love. He was . . . very good-looking. He's the reason why you're so beautiful.” She pushed a strand of hair from my face. “I moved to DC and we got married without telling anyone. And then I got pregnant and had you. One day, we met your great-aunt in the city and went for a walk at the Lincoln Memorial. Your father took a picture of you and Juniper; then he handed me the camera and I never saw him again. A few weeks later, Juniper told me the truth. He wasn't a student. He'd been hired to do secret work.”

“What kind of work?” Ethan asked. I could barely speak at this point. My thoughts were racing.

“Your father is a professional thief. Or
was
a thief, I really don't know if he's even alive at this point. But he wasn't an ordinary thief. He was a genius. He knew how to break codes, how to disable security systems, stuff like that. The archaeological society hired him to retrieve some sort of artifact that had been stolen from them. That's why he was working in DC with your great-aunt. And then he disappeared because someone was looking for him. He had to go into hiding. Juniper knew where he was but she wouldn't tell me. She assured me that he was a good person. But she said she had to protect him because there was so much at stake. I told her to stay away from me and my family. If she'd been honest with me from the beginning, I wouldn't have allowed myself to fall in love with him.” Mom's eyes welled with tears. “It was a very difficult time in my life. I was alone with a baby to support. I blamed her.”

It started to make sense. The reason I looked different. The reason my mom had been so protective. “That's why you got mad when I took that candy bar,” I realized. “You said you didn't want me to become a career criminal.”

“Yes.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Then her phone buzzed. “Crud, I'm late for work.” She pulled me close, squeezing me real tight. “I love you, Jax. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth. We can talk more about this later tonight.” She grabbed her keys and apron and started down the steps.

“Wait,” I said. She turned. “What's his name?”

“His name is Isaac Romero. But Juniper said he had a special code name. The Locksmith.” She hurried toward her car.

Ethan dropped his half of the orange and grabbed my arm. “Did you hear that?” His eyes got real wide and his voice cracked. “Did you
hear
that?”

“Hello? I was sitting right here. Of course I heard it.” I forced myself to stay very still, to look as if nothing unusual had just happened. I waited until Mom had backed her car out of the driveway and was driving off. Then I jumped to my feet. “My father's the Locksmith!” I cried. “He built the secret box for me. He set it to open at the Lincoln Memorial because that's the last place he saw me.”

Ethan smiled back at me.

I didn't have to imagine him. He was real. I ran across the yard and grabbed my bike. “Come on!” I called.

I rode and rode and rode, past the houses I'd seen hundreds of times. Past the churches and gas stations and stores I knew by heart. For the first time in my life I felt like a whole person, like one half of me was no longer just an outline. After a while, Ethan took the lead, his baseball cap guiding the way as we wound around the school and down to the river. I got all sweaty but I didn't care. It felt good to pump my legs.

This was my town.

This was my family.

This was important.